It being summer, the ground in the back garden was baked really hard.
She felt a terrible loss when her poodle died. It was getting old and had a number of issues, so she could see it coming. She had done everything the vet had suggested, but finding it absolutely still in its basket that morning was inevitable. She already felt the loneliness creeping in; the awful loss of her much loved companion. He’d always maintained that there would be no replacement. A grave needed to be dug regardless of how hard it was to dig. Now, he was out there pounding at the ground, complaining. You’d have to say that she was a calm and placid woman, and that he was an angry complainer. She had loved her dog. He hadn’t.
She watched from the kitchen window as he struck with the spade over and over, cursing with every blow. Regardless of her knowing what sort of reception she’d get, she thought it only right, despite the day’s heat, to go out and offer support. When she came close, she could see he’d made some progress; the hole was half dug. He stopped and straightened his back. His face was bright red and covered with sweat.
He bellowed, “Don’t just stand there, get me a glass of water!”
She hurried indoors. With an empty glass in her hand, she sat sobbing gently. She could no longer hold down her grief. His shouting at her didn’t help. After a few minutes, she stood, feeling more composed. She filled the glass and went back out.
He was just lying there, one arm in the grave, eyes and mouth wide open.
She stood for a moment, sipping the water. She had only one thought going through her head.
Before too long, she’d be visiting the pet shop!